


As We Welcome the Light

by Noelle_Floust



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 1832-ish, 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Les Misérables, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, French Characters, I left it a reader insert bc I don't like OCs, Les Misérables Spoilers, No hate tho - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Victor Hugo is turning over in his grave, Weirdness, you do you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelle_Floust/pseuds/Noelle_Floust
Summary: Jean Valjean is captivated by a young woman in the Luxembourg gardens. They fall hard and fast, and Valjean struggles to find a balance between his life as an escaped convict and his life with the two women he loves.A Jean Valjean/Reader story





	1. The light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark meets light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any of Victor Hugo's characters, but I wish I did naw wa um sayin

Jean Valjean first saw her in the same way Cosette had first seen Marius. The man and his daughter were sitting on a bench in the Luxembourg garden, on the deserted side, near the Rue de l’Quest. She walked by, and Valjean just so happened to look up. Their eyes met, and Valjean's breath had been taken away by a force much more powerful than he.

She was dressed as a wealthy woman would have dressed, and she had the soft, round arms of the same class. Her lips were small and bowed, and Valjean gazed at them most of all. Her eyes were large and shining, and were tipped in an elegant cat like way, and they pierced Valjean's very soul.

Her crepe gloves concealed her dainty hands, and Valjean felt himself longing to see those petite things. As she walked, her skirts lifting in a most modest way to reveal her boots. They too were dainty. 

She nodded her head at him, then continued on her way.

When Cosette and Valjean left the garden later that evening, he was still thinking about the woman he saw. She must have been half his age or less, but he couldn't help himself. He was captivated. She had captured his attention when he hadn't realized he could feel that way towards a woman.

Cosette retired early after many attempts to engage Valjean in conversation. He hadn't been unwilling, just lost in thought. Cosette kissed his forehead and went to her room. Valjean took this opportunity to take a stroll through the garden.

He rarely did this, as the chances of being caught were higher than ever. Tonight, however, he couldn't find it in him to worry. His very being was glowing now that he could freely think of the woman. She had sparked something in him, and that spark had lead to a fire. A raging fire that licked at his heart and mind. A raging fire that consumed him. He had to see her again. To just get a glimpse of her would be glimpsing heaven.

He made sure Toussaint knew he was going out, as always, and donned his overcoat. As soon as he stepped out the door, a lightheaded feeling filled him. He wasn't thinking of where he was going; he just went.

His legs lead him back to the Luxembourg garden, and there he sat on the same bench by the Rue de l’Quest. He pondered, as ponderous was his natural state of being.

He thought of the woman's kind and beautiful face, her white dress flaunting her innocence in an unintentional and not unattractive way. Her lips, oh, her lips.

Valjean had never had a sweetheart, having no time in his life as an escaped convict for such things, and when he found Cosette, he believed he had been whole. Even before his sentence, he was more focused on his sister and her children than his own needs.

He heard soft steps, and looked up. He saw a figure, obviously female by the silhouette of her dress, and his heart stopped. Could it be…?

The figure approached, and Valjean couldn't take his eyes of of it. As the lady stepped into the moonlight that shone on Valjean and the bench, he saw that it was her. 

“It is very late to be out, monsieur,” she said, with a hint of teasing in her voice.

Valjean could say nothing. It was as if an angel had been plucked from heaven, given the finest features any man would ever look upon, and a voice that would bring God himself to his knees. He anguished that he may never hear that heavenly song again.

“You are also out at this late hour,” he said curtly. The tone of his voice made him wince, but the mademoiselle laughed. It was an innocent, tinkling laugh, and Valjean was reminded of how youthful she was.

“May I join you?” she asked.

Valjean was struck almost furious with how trusting she was. What if his intentions had been to harm her? Would she just give herself away this freely to any man? His anger was abated when he saw the look in her eyes. No, she would do none of that. This was a pure soul.

He moved as to make room for another person to sit. She sat, and they were silent together. Not once did one speak to the other, but they stole looks at eachother when they thought the other wasn't looking.

At the stroke of one, the mademoiselle stood and turned to Valjean, giving a little curtsey.

“Bon soir, monsieur.” she said, and simply walked back in the direction in which she came.

Valjean stood, also, his mind completely clear, and walked back home. He slept as he had never slept before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave cristicisms in the comments!  
> P.S. if you wanna beta this slide into my dms and we'll discuss things  
> Bon soir = good evening


	2. In Which the Old Confronts the New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valjean is reminded that Cosette is still an inquisitive child.

Valjean awoke very late in the afternoon. He was startled from his bed at the thought of not seeing the mademoiselle that day. He dressed haphazardly, not knowing he had reused some articles from the previous day. When he came down into the dining room, Cosette was waiting, a book in her little hands.

Valjean kissed her forehead and sat across from her at the table, then proceeded to practically swallow his breakfast whole. The two ladies of the house looked at him as if he were ill. He looked right back, not unkindly.

“Is everything alright, father?” asked Cosette, setting her book down and placing her hand on top of Valjean's. His heart melted, and his features softened enough to allow a smile.

“Of course, chérie,” he said, and looked at Cosette’s empty plate. “Shall we go for a stroll?”

Cosette nodded happily, and her cheeks adopted a pinkish hue. Valjean didn't like that color. It was the color of a young woman in love.

The whole walk to the Luxembourg garden, he watched Cosette. Not once did she look up at him, but instead looked about at the trees and flowers.

Spring most definitely brought a sense of welcoming and home. It could ease sorrows and lift burdens, even from those with the most heavy of both. It had this effect on both father and daughter, but Valjean knew it was not just the spring that made his doll of a daughter’s soul sing so.

They sat at their bench. Cosette was alert, and kept fixing her bonnet. This made Valjean frown. He was suddenly alert as well, looking about for the man who could dare try and take his precious daughter away.

Instead, he saw the mademoiselle. She was dressed again in white, but this dress had a pattern of the most delicate flowers and vines. She was carrying a parasol over her shoulder, as the sun was fully up, and her gloves were removed and in the other hand. 

Valjean drank in the sight of those pale, marble like hands. They were so pale you could see the bluish veins running through them. The fingers were long and slender - fingers meant to play harpsichord or piano, thought Valjean - and they came to a soft point with her clear nails.

Her eyes were on him again, and his eyes were on hers. She nodded, and Valjean felt his head return the nod. Cosette’s eyes sought his out with an almost petulant look, and Valjean looked away from the mademoiselle in shame. He suggested they go back. Cosette looked disappointed, but she obliged. 

Things continued in this manner for three months, and during those three months, Valjean fell hard for the mademoiselle.

They saw one another every night, and conversed about a variety of things, but not once did one ask the other’s name. The mademoiselle remained a mystery.

The things Valjean did know about her set his heart aflame. She loved music and literature, especially Shakespeare. Valjean was no great reader, but he particularly enjoyed the Bard. 

The mademoiselle also had a rebel mindset, not a conservative in any way, and Valjean found that admirable. That a woman could have such strong opinions was something he had only ever seen in Cosette’s mother, Fantine. But where Fantine had been striking and gorgeous, the mademoiselle was soft and beautiful.

Cosette had been confused and hurt at first by her father's secrecy and gloominess over the woman they saw every day. She had relentlessly asked him about it, even momentarily abandoning her own attempts with the monsieur she saw in the same place as the woman.

Valjean was a private man, and though he loved his daughter, he didn't want to involve such an innocent in the matters of love. It might give her ideas.

He was never curt or stern with her, even when she positively demanded to know who the mademoiselle was. He would just smile, take her on his knee and tell her stories. She would smile gently. Even though she was now a beautiful young woman, she loved to hear her papa’s stories.

This tactic worked for the first two months, but by the third, Cosette had grown restless. She stayed home sometimes when Valjean offered to go for their morning walk. This concerned him, so he also started staying home, only going to the gardens at night.

His little woman was clever, though, and she began staying up with her papa. She would read to him until the early hours, and he found he could not say no to her. The night always ended with Toussaint ushering them to bed, both exhausted.

The mademoiselle was never forgotten, but both Valjean and Cosette had pushed her to the back of their minds by the fifth month. Their walking path changed, and they slept regularly once again.

Unbeknownst to Valjean and Cosette, the mademoiselle faithfully waited for her midnight companion. After all of those months, she waited. Whenever the clock struck one, she would sigh and leave just as silently as she had come and just as she had sat.

One day, Cosette lead Valjean back in the direction of the Luxembourg garden. He had hardly noticed, but when they sat on the bench, they were there. Cosette had a determined look on her pretty face, and Valjean had a bad feeling.

“Chérie,” he inquired. “Why have we come back.”

Costte didn't answer him. She simply sat with her eyes fixed towards the north end of the gardens.

Valjean was almost frightened when the mademoiselle came. He willed her to turn back, for he knew what Cosette was going to do. He willed the mademoiselle to just turn around, but she didn't.

An innocent smile graced her lips as she approached the pair. Valjean felt himself smiling. Until Cosette rose from her place next to him.

“Madame, would you please explain your relationship to my father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave criticisms in the comments!  
> P.S. if you wanna beta this slide into my dms and we'll discuss things  
> Chéri = darling/dear


End file.
